Text 1: Fourteen minutes off script, by Priya Sethi

An original contemporary magazine article.

By seven o'clock, our breakfast programme had been planned almost to the second. Three recorded interviews were waiting on the studio computer, the newsreader was due at quarter past, and I had chosen enough music to carry us neatly to eight.

At six minutes past seven, the control screen went black. The music stopped halfway through a song and every recorded interview disappeared from the system. Through the glass, my producer held up a sheet of paper on which she had written, KEEP TALKING.

I admitted to the listeners that the equipment had failed and asked anyone already awake to telephone the studio. The first caller was a baker beginning his shift; the next was a nurse travelling home after a night at work. Soon all four telephone lines were flashing. People reported a fallen tree, compared the earliest hours at which their children had woken them and argued cheerfully about the best breakfast.

An engineer restored the system fourteen minutes later. By then, however, the producer decided that interrupting the callers for the recorded material would spoil the programme. We broadcast only one of the three interviews, and the news went out eight minutes late.

That afternoon, more messages arrived about the programme than we had received all month. Several listeners said that, for once, the station had sounded like the town itself rather than a timetable being read aloud. It was hardly the broadcast we had prepared, but it was one people remembered.

Text 2: An evening without pictures, by Edmund Vale

An original diary entry written in a nineteenth-century voice; a period simulation, not an archival document.

In this entry from 1884, a traveller describes giving a public lecture about his journey through the mountains.

I arrived at the Assembly Rooms expecting an easy triumph. Sixty coloured glass slides had been prepared for the lantern, and my written lecture contained a separate description for each picture. Nearly two hundred people had paid to see them.

Ten minutes before I was to begin, Mr Cobb discovered that the lantern lens had cracked during the railway journey. He produced upon the wall a small, cloudy circle in which neither a village nor a mountain could be distinguished. The audience had already taken their seats, so postponement was impossible.

I pushed my manuscript aside and spoke from memory. With chalk, I drew the route of my journey upon a blackboard and asked two boys in the front row to hold up my paper map. At first there was whispering at the back of the room. When I began describing the night in which our tent was nearly carried away by the wind, however, the room became quiet.

I spoke for more than an hour, although I omitted the whole account of crossing the highest pass because I could not explain it clearly without the pictures. At the end there was generous applause, and three gentlemen invited me to lecture in neighbouring towns. Nevertheless, several subscribers asked when they might see the promised slides. I have agreed to return next month with a new lens.

Using information from both texts, explain briefly how circumstances forced the writers to alter their plans and how successful their alterations were.

You should make it clear which text you are referring to.